Читать книгу The Treasure of the Tigris: A Tale of Mesopotamia - A. F. Mockler-Ferryman - Страница 8

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Riding over the ruins on the following day, I realised for the first time the immense task that I had undertaken. In all directions there stretched miles and miles of barren land, with here and there low mounds, ditches, and heaps of rubbish, overgrown with scrub and coarse grass. Actual ruins, such as walls and the remains of buildings above ground, there were none, though an occasional long deep trench, dug by modern excavators, disclosed the presence of a wall at a considerable depth below the surface. For centuries the place had been ransacked for bricks to build the towns and villages in the neighbourhood, and even now I found natives with donkeys loading up the panniers with masses of broken brickwork.

With the scanty information that I possessed, to attempt to commence digging for the Golden Girdle was, of course, hopeless—far more hopeless than looking for a needle in fifty bundles of hay. I, however, made a thorough exploration of the ruins, and corrected and added to my maps, deciding that the next step to be taken was to get away among the Bedouin tribes, and to try to discover some sort of clue as to the burial-place of the Girdle. Why I thought of the Bedouins as likely to be of assistance was this; I had among my papers a full-sized drawing of an Arab horse-shoe, and my uncle had shown me the actual shoe, the peculiar shape of which at the time interested me a good deal, though I now found that similar ones were worn by all the Arab horses. It was a thin disc of metal with a hole in the centre, but it differed from most shoes in that it had eight nail-holes instead of the usual six. With the drawing was the translation of a document, and a note to the effect that the horse-shoe and its description were obtained from the Munshi Abdul Aziz of Kerbela, and brought to England in 1899 by a certain Captain Johnson, who was subsequently killed in South Africa. The document itself ran as follows:-

"In the name of God, the Merciful and Compassionate, and, Said Mohammed, Agent of the High God, and of the Companions of Mohammed. Praised be the Lord, the Omnipotent Creator.

"This is the Na'l Talisman of the Muntafik, which at one time adorned the hoof of the beautiful mare Shahzadi, by a Kuhailan Haifi sire, out of the dam Labadah. The famous mare, known to all the tribes, was captured by Feyzul, sheik of the Jelas Aeniza, from the Sheik Jedaan-ibn-Mirshid, who was killed in battle, when a portion of the Salama tribe of the Shammar was utterly defeated on the 17th of the month Saphar, A.H. 1281. Of the ill-omened Salama there escaped but one man, who was riding a brown horse, with four white feet and a white mark on the forehead, said by some to have been of the true breed of Saklawi, by others of Ubaiyan. The man bore away the serpent belt of pure gold, coveted by the desert tribes."

On the back of the original paper was scribbled in pencil:-

"The shoe and its history were given to me by my old friend, Munshi Abdul Aziz, on his deathbed, in return for some slight services which I had rendered him in connection with the annual payment of pilgrim money. He told me that it had been carried, for many years, as a talisman, on the neck of the mare ridden by a former sheik of the Muntafik. How it came into his possession he preferred not to disclose; but he said that it was well known that the mare Shahzadi was shod on the off hind foot with an eight nailed shoe (the near hind, of course, having no shoe). H. J., 8.4.98."

I had already regarded this document as of very great importance, and I now decided that my first object should be to discover Feyzul, and learn what he had to say about the golden belt. It was true that Feyzul might not be alive, and his tribe, in its turn, might have been wiped off the face of the earth; but still it was the only clue, and it seemed to me to be worth while following up. So we left Babil and went off to the town of Hillah, where we imagined we might be able to get the desired information from the Turkish police officer, whose duty it was to keep an eye on the Bedouin tribes of the neighbourhood. The officer was most polite, and, after inspecting my passport and firman, sent for his sergeant, and asked him what was the latest information that he had of the Jelas sheik.

The sergeant, with much pomp and ceremony, produced a note-book from his pocket, and rapidly turning over the leaves, at length came to the page he wanted, when he read out deliberately and in a low voice:—

"Faris-ibn-Feyzul, tribe of Jelas, otherwise Ruwalla, of the Aeniza; 742 men; 428 women; many children; valuable mares and stallions; also camels and sheep. Blood feud with the Salama of the Shammar; constantly fighting. The tribe was driven from the Ndjef marshes by the Turkish troops two months ago, and was reported to have moved about four days south."

"Is that all?"

"It is all that I know, captain, for, as you are aware, I have been out in the northern district for the past month."

"What age do you suppose this Faris to be?" I asked.

"Oh, anything over fifty-five, might be seventy, but rides and fights like a man of thirty."

Then the officer suddenly appeared to become inquisitive, and asked me why I was so anxious to find this particular Arab chief, who had not the best of reputations. For the moment I was rather nonplussed, but I satisfied him by saying that I had been told that he and his tribe knew the ruins of Babylon better than most people, and that they would be sure to know what parts had been explored by previous excavators. In the end the sergeant was told to try and find out where the chief had his headquarters, and during the next few days I and my party were entertained by the police officer, who showed us all the sights of the neighborhood—including the so-called Tower of Babel, or Birs Nimroud.

Before the end of the week Faris-ibn-Feyzul had been discovered, and the sergeant proudly related how one of his men had seen him in the bazaar at Kerbela, and had tracked him for three days and nights out into the desert, and had found his tribe encamped barely two days' ride from Hillah.

So far so good. I knew that the Jelas tribe still existed, and though Sheik Feyzul was dead, his son Faris reigned in his stead. The next point was how to open up communications with him.

"It would be perfectly useless my sending for him," said the Turkish officer, "for he would not come. They are most independent devils, all these Bedouins, and you cannot even bribe them. You might send a dozen messages to this Faris, and tell him that you would pay him a thousand kerans a day for his services, but that would not be an inducement to him. He would imagine that we had designs on him."

"I must get hold of him somehow," I said; "what do you think I had better do?"

"There is only one way that I can see," was the reply. "Leave your zaptiehs here, and ride off with your friend to Faris's camp without an escort. I will give you a guide to show you the way, but he must leave you as soon as you are within sight of the camp. It will be somewhat risky, as, of course, the Jelas people may take you for Turks and make short work of you, but if you pretend to be simple English travellers having lost the way, I daresay it will be all right. I shall, however, have to get you to give me a paper saying that you left Hillah against my wish, in case you come to grief, as otherwise I might get into trouble."

Edwards and I agreed that we had better make the plunge into the desert, and leaving our belongings in charge of the zaptiehs, with strict injunction that if nothing was heard of us within a week, they were to follow us up, we gave the Turk his clearance certificate, and rode off with our guide at daybreak next morning.

After a somewhat uninteresting ride of a long day, with always in front of us a mirage rising out of the sandy desert, and enticing us to put spurs to our horses and gallop to the shade of the palm-groves, which appeared to grow on the edge of a lake surrounding a great city and its thousand minarets; after halting for the night in a real date garden, we arrived late in the afternoon of the second day on a low ridge from which the country around was visible for many miles. Here the guide stopped, telling us that we would now have to proceed alone. He then pointed out the line which we were to take—roughly south-west—showing us, in the far distance, a tiny speck, which he pronounced to be the encampment of the Jelas sheik. Looking through our field-glasses, we could just discern the resemblance to an encampment, but the prospect of reaching it before dark seemed small. The guide, however, assured us that it was not as far off as we imagined; the country was deceptive; and we should probably reach our destination before sundown. With hearts none too light, we parted from the guide, and started in a bee-line for our goal.

Before going any great distance, we got hung up by a morass, which had to be circumvented; then the horses showed signs of being fatigued, and we were obliged to get off and lead them.

"A jolly wild goose chase this seems to be," said Edwards, somewhat sulkily.

"Not very cheerful, is it?" I replied.

Neither of us spoke again for about half an hour. The sun was gradually nearing the horizon. It would be pitch dark in less than an hour. Edwards stopped.

"What are we going to do?" he asked. "We can't possibly reach the beastly place before dark, and we are not likely to find it when we can't see where we are going. I vote we chuck it, have some food, and bivouac here till the morning."

"Don't you believe it," said I, "what sort of a person do you take me for? Do you suppose I have been looking at this compass of mine ever since we left the guide simply to amuse myself? I have got the bearing of old Faris's centre wigwam to a nicety. The compass is a luminous one. Look at it. Do you see the luminous paint? Well, as soon as it gets properly dark and the stars are nice and bright, I'll take you along quite gaily."

Edwards was interested. He had never seen a luminous compass before, and confessed that he had no idea that anyone could wander about in a desert at night and discover where he was going. Now, as a matter of fact, I was not at all confident of my ability to use a compass at night; for, since leaving Sandhurst, I had never troubled about these matters. Still, I could see that my companion did not much like the look of the situation, so I thought it best to reassure him.

The compass worked far better than I expected—indeed so accurately as to almost result in our coming to an untimely end. The darkness that had settled in very shortly after sunset was of the blackest, the stars standing out with remarkable brilliancy. Whether it was that my nerves were strained to the utmost, or that it was the first night that I had spent in the absolute solitude of the vast desert, I cannot say, but I can never remember in all my subsequent travels any night that approached this one for inky blackness. On we trudged over the hard, baked sand, still warm to the feet, and making the air warm as high as one's chest; above that, a cool invigorating breeze blew about our heads. Under other circumstances, we should have delighted in the night march; as it was, we were both too jumpy to appreciate it.

Suddenly, at a little distance to our right, a dog barked, and almost instantaneously half a dozen shots were fired. Fortunately, they were evidently fired haphazard, for none of them came in our direction, but our reception was far too warm to be pleasant, so I shouted in the best Arabic that I could command:—

"Salaam Aleikum! We are two English travellers who have lost our way. We seek hospitality for the night, and to be put on our road in the morning."

There was no reply, though we could hear voices quite close, and could now distinguish the form of the tents of the encampment. My compass had landed us within a hundred yards of the right spot, but I had no thought for the moment of congratulating myself on its accuracy, or on my skill in handling it. It was a question whether we should have a volley fired into us, or whether our account of ourselves would be accepted. All doubt, however, was soon swept away, when a stentorian voice came out of the darkness:—

"If you are, as you say, Ingleezee who have lost your way, let one man advance and the other remain a while behind."

I immediately advanced, while Edwards stood his ground. At the doorway of a large tent I was received by a handsome young Arab, around whom clustered a number of wild-looking men and women. Oil wick lamps were raised to my face, and after a few searching questions, the men appeared to be satisfied, and told me that my companion could come in. As soon as Edwards appeared, the young Arab, who was evidently the chief of the party, looked intently into his face, then, flinging himself on the ground at his feet, became almost convulsed with emotion.

"It is the great Hakim (doctor)," he exclaimed, "Alhamdu l'Illah—Praise be to Allah—I have met him again. The blessed Hakim who saved my life when I was left for dead by the accursed Shammar. Oh, God is great to let me see him again, and befriend him in the desert."

We were soon surrounded by as many of the tribe as were able to crowd into the tent, and the doorway was blocked with the remainder. Edwards was the centre of attraction, and his Arab friend regaled his fellow-tribesmen with countless personal experiences of the Hakim's skill. But, in the excitement, our wants were not forgotten; our horses were taken away and cared for; women brought in vessels of sour leben, and dishes of meat and unleavened bread, of which we ate with an appetite whetted by a hard day's march and by the keen, crisp air of the desert night. Neither was this all, for the floor of the tent was rapidly piled up with carpets and rugs, conveyed by numerous eager hands, and after taking the most affectionate farewell for the night, Sedjur, our host prepared to leave us to ourselves.

"But, Sedjur," said Edwards, holding the young chief's hand, "you have not told me why you are here, six days' journey to the west of Baghdad; when in the hospital, you always said you came from the north, from near Mosul."

"True, O Hakim," was the reply, "but we of the desert have no fixed home. We wander hither and thither. Yet I confess that I lied to you when I said that I came from the north. To have disclosed my identity would have imperilled the safety of my tribe for the son of Faris would have been a rare prize for the Turki Spahis (a curse on them!), and they would have tortured me until they had discovered the movements of my father and his people."

"Are you, then, Faris's son?" inquired Edwards.

"Even so."

"Where then is the sheik, your father?"

"He left, two days since, with ten picked men, to effect the capture of the horses of some Shammar robbers who were reported to be at Babil. He will return before sundown to-morrow, and he will then offer you the full hospitality of the tribe."

"Well, peace be with you, Sedjur, at any rate for this night, and plenty of hard fighting before long. That is the greatest joy I can wish you, I know."

Sedjur's face brightened, and his keen eyes glistened as he turned and left us. When we were alone, I asked my companion to explain how, in the middle of the night and in the middle of the desert, he had suddenly found fame. It was not a long story, because George Edwards was the sort of person who made a story about himself as short as possible. The Consul-General, it appeared, was riding out, with a small escort, near Zobeidé's Tomb, one evening about a year before, and came across a man lying in an exhausted condition under a bush. The man was unable to give an account of himself, but he was evidently in desperate straits, with several sword cuts on his body and one or two ugly spear gashes. The Englishman made his escort carry the wretched Arab into Baghdad and hand him over to the Residency surgeon, and, as Edwards concluded, "I looked after him, tinkered up his wounds, and was just going to discharge him from hospital, when he discharged himself—made a bolt of it one fine night."

"Edwards," I said, when he had finished, "you are a marvel. There never was such a stroke of luck. If all accounts of these people be true, you have secured the everlasting friendship of Faris and all his tribe. We are made men—that is to say if Faris really knows anything of the Golden Girdle."

Edwards's reply was a long, loud snore, and it was not many minutes before I myself sank into that blissful state of oblivion which is begotten of sheer exhaustion.